Good Enough
by Perse
Summary: Post-war, with two most unlikely survivors. (Snape and Harry, non-slash)


Title: Good Enough

Author: Perse

Rating: T

Category: angst

Summary: Post-war, with two most unlikely survivors. (Snape and Harry, non-slash)

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ do not belong to me. I make no money from this story. Please don't sue.

Warnings: lots of off-screen character death, though not Snape or Harry

Author's Note: I really have no idea where this came from. This is one of those stories that just took hold in my mind and flowed until it was written. It stands as a one-shot; I'm not sure if I'll be leaving it at that or not. Be forewarned, it is sad and terribly bittersweet.

oOo

He likes the warmth of the sunlight, the feel of the grass between his bare toes. He leans back on his elbows and closes his eyes as he tilts his face into the waning light, letting it bathe him.

Then it comes, as it always does. It begins as a twinge and then creeps upon him, a vague feeling that he should be doing something, that someone is expecting something from him. It is at the edge of his mind…but he can't quite grasp the thought.

It agitates him, ruining the serenity he had been enjoying. He opens his eyes and immediately scrunches up his face against what now seems like harsh light. He grunts and sits up, covering his eyes with his hands, touching hot skin with grass-stained fingers. He presses his palms too close and the glasses protest, biting into his face as they are knocked askew.

"Harry?"

Harry. That sounds familiar. Is that him?

He looks up when he feels the gentle hand on his back.

It is a familiar face; the only face his memories are allowing him at the moment. The only face that is ever-present.

The agitation begins to flow out of him. He knows he is safe with this man.

A hand reaches to his face, disentangling the glasses and setting them straight. Harry smiles at the man, wishing his mind would provide him with a name. It doesn't; but he decides that it doesn't matter, for the man doesn't seem to expect anything from him.

He keeps coming back to 'Dad,' but he doesn't think that's right. Someday, perhaps he will say it anyway.

But not today.

Today is almost over. As the man sits down beside him, Harry turns back to the sky. The sunlight is disappearing as the great orange ball descends more quickly now.

The hand begins to stroke his back gently, up and down. It feels good—protective, comforting.

The colors begin to spread, and Harry smiles.

And they sit.

Then the hand that had been rubbing his back is removed, and he whimpers slightly in protest. But the man is just shifting, moving to lean against the tree trunk. When he opens his arms in invitation, Harry quickly crawls to him. He cuddles close and snakes his arms around the man, turning his face so he can keep an eye on the sky.

He doesn't like the dark, but he likes the pretty colors that come before it. He watches them every night. Some nights are prettier than others. Tonight is beautiful.

He's doing nothing, getting nowhere.

But his mind has settled. He's content. And this man is here. This man loves him, he can sense it.

Somehow, it is more than good enough.

oOo

Snape watches. He sits on the back porch of their house, a short distance from the boy lying on his back in the grass, soaking up the sun. He will not interrupt the peaceful moment, not yet.

Harry is no longer a boy, of course. But it is impossible to think of him as an adult in this state.

Times like these, when he has a moment to simply ponder, Severus still wonders how he got here.

The attachment between himself and Harry Potter is something he never saw coming. Fate certainly had an ironic way of working things out.

There had come a point where he'd had to put aside his long held animosity. It had not been easy; in fact it was perhaps the thing he had struggled with most in his adult life. But he had been the one Harry required. No one else could get the boy through Occlumency. No one else was willing to state the cold facts, to yell at him when he needed it and bring him back to reality. These were things he'd required to have even a chance at defeating the Dark Lord.

There had been times when Snape was certain he was the only one who did not treat the boy as a sometimes fragile and yet larger-than-life hero. That he was the only one who saw him as human.

He did not love him for his deeds or the place he would hold in the History books. In fact, those things were a part of what had cultivated his dislike of the boy. So, as he began to work with him, he was not caught up in those things. He had no false heroic image of Harry Potter. He saw past the fame and the destiny.

And something terribly unexpected had begun to happen. He had honestly not expected to find much beneath those things. Instead he had found a scared, awkward, passionate, hurting soul.

And, slowly but undeniably, he had come to care for the boy.

Still, he had resisted getting attached to Harry. He had no illusions about his odds of survival, and if Harry managed to come through in one piece he did not want to be one more horrible loss for the boy to bear. It was easier for both of them, he had told himself, if he kept his distance.

But it was impossible. At some point along the way, Harry had attached to him. Snape had eventually come to realize that, as he tried to pull away, he was hurting Harry worse than his eventual death would. And Harry didn't need more hurt right then; Harry needed strength.

He had finally decided that if there was loss in their future; if one of them were to survive, they would simply have to cope when that time came. It was worth it to give Harry someone to hold onto.

In weak, unguarded moments in the dead of night, he had sometimes admitted that it was also worth it for _him_ to have someone.

But never in his wildest dreams—or his worst nightmares—would he have imagined this outcome.

He is instantly alert when Harry moves, sitting up and covering his face. Two steps and a few quick strides bring him to the boy's side.

"Harry?"

He bends down, placing a hand on his back. That precious face tilts to look up at him. There is tension in the features, but it eases when he sees him.

The glasses are slightly askew, and Severus reaches to right them. Harry smiles at him then. He cannot help but return the gesture, feeling a slight tug in his heart. He lowers himself to sit in the grass at his side. Harry turns back to watch the sky, and Snape knows he is waiting for the approaching sunset. He loves to watch the colors play across the horizon. Severus settles in to wait, allowing his hand to take up a gentle rhythm on the thin back. Harry responds to the touch with a contented sigh, leaning into it slightly.

Severus has often wondered why he survived. Why him, when so many others were so much more worthy. So many innocents, so many brave warriors for good.

Nothing made him good enough to have deserved it.

And having to watch Harry like this…

Voldemort had been a sadistic bastard. Ironically, that was the only reason the two of them were still here. In the Dark Lord's eyes, neither Severus nor Harry had deserved a quick death. His mistake had been in taunting Harry instead of just going for the kill. Harry had been on the ground, fumbling for his wand in the wake of a Crucio, when the killing curse had finally been cast.

But he had left enough of an opening for a body to throw itself between Harry Potter and the Avada Kedavra.

Severus had seen it all as he ran towards them. Too late to save Weasley, soon enough to distract the Dark Lord while Harry caught his best friend's body.

Severus tried not to think about it too often. But when he did, he was certain that it was Ron Weasley's death that had been the turning and breaking point for Harry.

For the next thing he had known, Harry was up, faster than he would have thought possible. Faster than Voldemort had been prepared for. He'd used his legilimency skills, forced himself into the distracted Dark Lord's mind. Snape didn't know what exactly had been in that mental thrust, but it had worked. Not only had Harry stopped him within seconds of killing Severus; he had brought him to his knees.

The next few minutes are fuzzy for him. He knows there was screaming; he knows there was an explosion.

When the smoke had cleared, an empty cloak lay smoldering on the ground. Harry lay nearby, unconscious, bleeding.

The Healers had never agreed on whether something had been wrenched in his mind when the connection to Voldemort was violently severed, or if he had simply had a breakdown in the wake of all he had seen and done.

Whatever the reason, the Harry Potter who awoke a week later was not the strong-willed wizard who had defeated the Dark Lord. Instead, in his place, was this childlike, damaged boy. He had only fleeting memories of the war. Some days he had only fleeting memories of anything.

There had been moments, many at the beginning, when Severus had wondered why Harry had survived. He was the great hero who had saved them all. He had certainly deserved a better fate than this. Mercy really should have let him die, and receive a well-earned peaceful rest with his loved ones.

The boy had watched the deaths of so many he cared for. But he didn't remember those deaths, not most days. At first Snape had thought those were his worst days, like today, when he couldn't even remember his own name without prompting.

But he had since revised that opinion. The worst days were his most lucid days. Those were the times when Severus had to watch unfathomable pain cloud those emerald eyes.

But the lucid days were few and far between. More often he fell somewhere in the middle, with vague enough memories to remember his loved ones, though not their fates.

He would often ask for them by name, out of the blue. Ron, or Hermione, or Dumbledore, mostly. Others to a lesser degree…Molly or Arthur, Ginny, Hagrid...Sirius.

And Severus must tell him that they are not here.

There is disappointment then, but not the exquisite pain that would come with the actual memories. Granger, held hostage by Death Eaters to lure Harry into the final battle. She was tortured to death. The great Albus Dumbledore, nearly untouchable to enemy spells and curses. They'd resorted to physical means with him; he was run through with a sword by one of the Death Eaters as his attention was on keeping Voldemort from Harry. Then there was Weasley, unseeing eyes staring up at Harry as he cradled the limp body, finding the strength in his friend's cruel fate to finish it, once and for all.

Severus would pat him on the back, trying not to relive those memories himself, and counter the disappointment with a promise that Harry would see them all again.

Harry could live out a full life like this. And Harry's full life expectancy is somewhat longer than Severus'. This is why he encourages the visits of the few surviving friends. He does not allow just anyone access to Harry; there are many who want a glimpse of the broken hero. But Snape is very selective, and very dangerous to anyone else.

There are three boys close to Harry's age, three boys who have surprised him nearly as much as Harry has in the past few years.

Of these, it is Longbottom who has had the most effect. Neville has shaken Snape to the core, because the chubby, dense, hapless little boy has become one of the strongest men he's ever known. Not only had he survived the war, but he had been a crucial fighter. And he had come through to show great poise in recovering from the losses. He works at the Ministry now, in a leadership position, helping put the wizarding world back together again. And he visits Harry as frequently as he is able. He is very good with him, but that should have been no surprise. After all, Neville has been coping with this sort of thing his whole life.

Then there is George. There are two surviving Weasleys, but Percy has always been a bit distant, and Snape isn't even sure if he ever leaves the Ministry these days. He is fairly certain the brothers don't spend much time together. Severus remembers the Weasley twins as spirited, ebullient troublemakers. But now, George is a withdrawn, depressed loner. Snape is convinced that Harry is good for him. Even when he doesn't remember the redhead, he seems to sense the sadness about him. He's very gentle and loving.

Rounding out the three is the last person anyone would ever have expected to visit Harry Potter. Draco had switched sides before the final battle, but not before he'd been branded with the Dark Mark. Severus had cared for Draco since he was a child, and he had agonized as he watched the boy vacillate between the sides. He'd been raised in darkness, for darkness. But there was light in him, and it had won out. But there was also a hardness in him. Hard enough to survive; so hard that he is lost now, with no one to fight. No way to atone.

Draco's visits can be difficult, because sometimes Harry remembers him as the enemy he once was. He can get fearful, or he can get violent. Draco leaves then, quickly. But he always comes back.

The only other regular visitor is Lupin. Lupin, however, seems well beyond Severus in years now. There are days when Snape is surprised Remus is still hanging on. He seems to have nothing to live for, and he sometimes balks at even coming to see Harry for their short visits.

But Severus keeps asking him to come, keeps telling him that Harry appreciates his visits, that even when he doesn't recognize him he talks about him later. Sometimes it is true. He also refuses to give Lupin his potion unless he keeps the visits, thus assuring that he will show up.

He's not sure when he became the one who encouraged social contact, the fixer of broken people. It is yet another irony, one that would have seemed so laughable a few years back that he expects those beyond the veil are staring in astonishment. Somewhere, Albus Dumbledore is chuckling fondly and telling people, 'See? I knew perfectly well who I was trusting. Even when he didn't know it himself.'

He stops rubbing Harry's back and shifts now, moving to lean against the large boulder. He holds open his arms and Harry follows a moment later, settling against him and twining thin arms around his waist. He lays his cheek against Severus' chest, turning so he can watch the colors spreading across the sky as the sun descends.

Yes, at first he had thought Harry's survival was a bitter reward. But, as time wore on and Harry grew stronger, he had begun to see it differently. The boy would eventually be reunited with his loved ones. Until then, he got to lead a simple life.

Once Severus was finally at peace with Harry's living, he found reason for his own. It might be a sort of punishment for him. But his presence is important to Harry.

The surviving Order members had wanted to put him in St. Mungo's. He would get the best of care there, Minerva had said. But Severus could not abide it. In fact, he was disgusted by the suggestion.

When he had insisted that he would take the boy, he had not entirely known what he was getting into. There had been some overwhelming moments when he thought perhaps he had made the wrong choice. But then Harry would smile at him, or turn to him for comfort. Then he knew that this was the purpose for his survival. Caring for Harry is the reason he lived.

Harry had never really been an innocent child. He is now. And he has someone to love him.

Snape cradles the boy closer. Harry snuggles against him, tilting his head to offer him a beatific smile before looking back to the sunset.

It is such a benign moment, symbolic of much of their time now. It is simple. It is painful for all that it lacks. But it is beautiful for all it contains.

It is all they had left.

It is more than good enough.

oOo


End file.
